Disclaimer: Umm… don't own Boromir (ooh… that would be nice), didn't write
first part in italics (Rauros falls bit – from same lament in previous
chapter, Tolkien's)… any more? Didn't invent the Horn of Gondor… heehee. No
Merry, be strong! Don't let yourself be fooled by him! He can't tell you
from Pippin! (don't worry, the secret diaries have tainted my innocent
young mind)
Disclaimer for disclaimer: I don't own the secret diaries, I don't own Pippin, I don't own Merry (bless his furry li'l feet), I don't have anything to do with conceiving of the idea of Boromir's hobbity flings. Yuck…. Be strong, Merry, strong!
~*~*~*~*~
Chapter 5: Silent Departure
As she replaced the pieces of the cloven horn, tucking her pendant safely away, Isilmë thought of the plan that had been slowly forming in her mind; to leave for the White City secretly, leaving a note that said she had gone to the halls at Cair Andros where Talor the swordsmaster lived, to spend some time improving her skill.
A sudden, new resolve flared in Isilmë. She would go to Minas Tirith alone – with the memory of Boromir's journey would she go, and she would look upon the White City, just as he had wished to. Alas for Boromir! Yet she would take this small part of his cloven horn, carrying it as did he, on her journey to the Tower of the Guard.
Glancing back one last time at the script as she began to run back to her room, her eye caught the last line:
'O Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze
To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days.'
She stopped, gazing at it for a moment, before turning swiftly and running lightly back to her room. There, she quickly began to fill a saddlebag with clothes and food. She took out pen and paper, and in her scruffy script she wrote a note to her parents:
My lord and lady,
I write so that you do not fear for me, or worry that all is not well, for it is; I have left Henneth of my own choice. For the dwelling at Cair Andros I ride, to practise there with the swordsmaster, as I fear that perhaps my skill wanes. I also wish to visit the Ship of Long-Foam again; to visit the island and some of the people that dwell upon the western bank. I plan to stay there for a while; do not worry if I send no messengers, 'tis likely I shall be worked so hard that I have no free time to do so!
I shall travel alone, and take Mîri; it is not a lengthy journey, and I shall leave early, as the sun rises. Do not be angry, please father, that I leave and ride alone; I need to escape Ithilien for a while. Fear not, I shall not stay so long away that ere I return I can best Talor!
Nam'rië, and love always,
Isilmë.
xxx
She left the note upon her bed, then gathering her things, went quietly down to the door, and outside, towards the stables. As she came near to them, she heard a whickering from Mîrlómë, who had heard her coming.
'Shhh, girl,' she said, going into the mare's stall, 'you'll wake the others.' Mîrlómë was restless after a day without a ride; usually she would have spent a full morning exploring the ever-changing trails of the forest with her rider. Yet now, at this late hour, Isilmë saddled and bridled the horse, tying her saddlebags onto the pommel, and wrapping the mare's hooves around with old rags to muffle the sound as she moved.
'Quiet now, ok?' The mare looked at her, then pushed at the door to her stall with her nose. Isilmë opened it, and led her out into the courtyard cautiously. She stopped Mîrlómë by the gate, and swung herself smoothly up into the saddle.
The sun was just beginning to show itself in the east as Mîrlómë walked out of the courtyard, through the archway with its open gates. Trotting on, they came down through the few trees to the edge of the forest. Isilmë turned for a moment, looking back at her slumbering home amidst the pale flowers and the trees. She took a deep breath; then turning Mîrlómë swiftly and whispering to the horse, she galloped off along the well-worn forest track.
~*~*~*~*~
A/n: Heehee. Can't tell I'm into horses, can you? Well, after that very exciting chapter… ahem… well, I suppose you could call it exciting… you must be on the edge of your chair, gripping the mouse with sweat-covered palms… if you're not, I don't know what's wrong with you. Honestly. Complete lack of emotion… go see a psychiatrist! (On second thoughts, don't – I've been informed by a number of my friends that I'm the one who needs a psychiatrist…)
Disclaimer for disclaimer: I don't own the secret diaries, I don't own Pippin, I don't own Merry (bless his furry li'l feet), I don't have anything to do with conceiving of the idea of Boromir's hobbity flings. Yuck…. Be strong, Merry, strong!
~*~*~*~*~
Chapter 5: Silent Departure
As she replaced the pieces of the cloven horn, tucking her pendant safely away, Isilmë thought of the plan that had been slowly forming in her mind; to leave for the White City secretly, leaving a note that said she had gone to the halls at Cair Andros where Talor the swordsmaster lived, to spend some time improving her skill.
A sudden, new resolve flared in Isilmë. She would go to Minas Tirith alone – with the memory of Boromir's journey would she go, and she would look upon the White City, just as he had wished to. Alas for Boromir! Yet she would take this small part of his cloven horn, carrying it as did he, on her journey to the Tower of the Guard.
Glancing back one last time at the script as she began to run back to her room, her eye caught the last line:
'O Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze
To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days.'
She stopped, gazing at it for a moment, before turning swiftly and running lightly back to her room. There, she quickly began to fill a saddlebag with clothes and food. She took out pen and paper, and in her scruffy script she wrote a note to her parents:
My lord and lady,
I write so that you do not fear for me, or worry that all is not well, for it is; I have left Henneth of my own choice. For the dwelling at Cair Andros I ride, to practise there with the swordsmaster, as I fear that perhaps my skill wanes. I also wish to visit the Ship of Long-Foam again; to visit the island and some of the people that dwell upon the western bank. I plan to stay there for a while; do not worry if I send no messengers, 'tis likely I shall be worked so hard that I have no free time to do so!
I shall travel alone, and take Mîri; it is not a lengthy journey, and I shall leave early, as the sun rises. Do not be angry, please father, that I leave and ride alone; I need to escape Ithilien for a while. Fear not, I shall not stay so long away that ere I return I can best Talor!
Nam'rië, and love always,
Isilmë.
xxx
She left the note upon her bed, then gathering her things, went quietly down to the door, and outside, towards the stables. As she came near to them, she heard a whickering from Mîrlómë, who had heard her coming.
'Shhh, girl,' she said, going into the mare's stall, 'you'll wake the others.' Mîrlómë was restless after a day without a ride; usually she would have spent a full morning exploring the ever-changing trails of the forest with her rider. Yet now, at this late hour, Isilmë saddled and bridled the horse, tying her saddlebags onto the pommel, and wrapping the mare's hooves around with old rags to muffle the sound as she moved.
'Quiet now, ok?' The mare looked at her, then pushed at the door to her stall with her nose. Isilmë opened it, and led her out into the courtyard cautiously. She stopped Mîrlómë by the gate, and swung herself smoothly up into the saddle.
The sun was just beginning to show itself in the east as Mîrlómë walked out of the courtyard, through the archway with its open gates. Trotting on, they came down through the few trees to the edge of the forest. Isilmë turned for a moment, looking back at her slumbering home amidst the pale flowers and the trees. She took a deep breath; then turning Mîrlómë swiftly and whispering to the horse, she galloped off along the well-worn forest track.
~*~*~*~*~
A/n: Heehee. Can't tell I'm into horses, can you? Well, after that very exciting chapter… ahem… well, I suppose you could call it exciting… you must be on the edge of your chair, gripping the mouse with sweat-covered palms… if you're not, I don't know what's wrong with you. Honestly. Complete lack of emotion… go see a psychiatrist! (On second thoughts, don't – I've been informed by a number of my friends that I'm the one who needs a psychiatrist…)